The Edge of Ruin

Chapter 1: Redecorating

Three years later

The thing that pissed Alex off the most was that it happened on a Tuesday. This was, of course, simply because remarkable things weren't supposed to happen on Tuesdays. They should choose a suitably remarkable day on which to make their marks, such as a Friday, or perhaps even a Monday. But this ... event, for lack of a better word (and want of a sharper mind, though that was a tall order this early in the morning), had missed Monday by two hours. This led to Alex's second issue: it was two in the morning.

And there was a blood-spattered, shivering, heaving person on her living room floor.

Alex readjusted her grip on her baseball bat, padding as silently as she could down the last few steps into her living room. The stranger had not yet noticed her. They were sobbing, arms wrapped around themselves, rocking back and forth on their knees, forehead dangerously close to kissing the carpet. There were trails of raised flesh all along their back, and Alex swore she could make out patterns in between the rivers of blood.

She made certain she was behind them, grip on her bat secure, before she switched the light on.

The stranger immediately started, whipping their head up and side to side, scanning the room. Eventually their gaze found Alex, and their eyes widened. They scrambled backwards, towards the stairs Alex had descended, arms raised in defense.

"Who are you?" Alex asked, voice like steel. "And what are you doing here?"

"Please," they babbled, voice reedy with fear. "Please don't hurt me. Please."

"Who are you," Alex repeated, narrowing her eyes and stepping closer to the person. She could make out now a willowy body, eyes wide and frightened.

"I – I'm –" They started, back now to the wall beside the stairs, knees to their chest. "I need your help. Please."

Alex repeated her question a third time, but they didn't seem to hear her. The litany of pleas continued to stream out; their head now buried in their hands.

Alex sighed, lowering her bat slightly. The tension had not yet left her shoulders, but she had enough faith in her years of training that she assumed she'd be able to take this person in a fight if the need arose. And on top of that, they looked to be gravely injured. She regarded them warily, noting now for the first time that they were naked. She also noted that no windows or doors were open, and she began to wonder how this person had gotten into her house.

There was a slight, lingering smell of smoke in the air, of charred wood and melted plastic and sea salt.

It didn't take long for her eyes to find the far wall, behind her beaten and lumpy purple couch, and the smouldering remains of a massive rune carved into it.

An hour later, the stranger had calmed enough for them to have accepted a robe from Alex and allowed her rudimentary medical attention. She had cleaned their back up as best she could, and in her efforts had revealed another rune carved into the flesh there. She couldn't begin to guess its meaning, but she shuddered to think what it could be. Runes were not meant for flesh, their effects undocumented in that medium.

They were now sitting across from her at the kitchen table, a mug of tea clutched between their trembling hands. Alex noted that their fingertips were torn and bloody, the fingernails ruined, as if they'd clawed them against something repeatedly.

After finding the runes, she'd resolved not to call the police. This was clearly no normal intruder, and any matter involving runes would have to be brought to the attention of either Taylor or her mother. And, considering it was a little past three in the morning, she was not keen to wake either of them just yet. And since the intruder didn't appear to be leaving anytime soon, and sleep did not look to be in her cards anymore, she figured she'd try play at detective for a while.